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A fork clatters against the plate. “Gohan, do you hate me?”
Gohan looks up from his own dinner at his father who sits, now with his hands in his lap, looking at his son with an expression that he can’t quite pick apart. He can never quite tell with Goku, after all. His father, the enigma.
“Where’s this coming from?” he says with a small laugh. Tense. Forced. He picks at the scars on his knuckles under the table. A nervous habit he never grew out of, a habit Videl and his mother are always calling him out on.
Whatever emotion it is on Goku’s face intensifies, deepens, his mouth set in some sort of frown. He looks back down at his plate, unusually full for a man of his appetite— he hasn’t been eating much. He has things on his mind. Gohan can decipher that much. “Do you?” He looks back up at his son.
Gohan looks at him, glances at the clock on the wall (a quarter past 8), glances at his hands in his lap. “I…” His throat feels tight. How the hell do you answer that sort of question? How the hell do you answer it when the one asking is Goku?
“No…? I don’t think so? I mean, I…”
Does he hate his father? No, he doesn’t think anyone can. As many mistakes as he’s made, as selfish and reckless as he could be, there wasn’t an ounce of ill intent in him. Deeply flawed as he may be, he’s full of love, has always been full of so much love, and he hands it out freely to everyone, even those who hate him. He fights for fun, yes, but he also fights to protect, because as much as he loves to fight, he loves the people around him more.
“Maybe? Well, I mean, I don’t hate you, but there’s— it's.” He exhales something that might be a laugh. Something nervous. “Complicated. There’s a lot to unpack there. More than I’m prepared to talk about tonight.”
Goku’s expression shifts into something a little more readable. He looks hurt. Shit. “What do you mean, Gohan? You either hate or you don’t. You do or you don’t. Why aren’t you telling me which it is?”
Black and white, cut and dry. He’s always like this. Goku has always seen the world in absolutes. It’s helped him in some past situations, but it’s not very good for understanding other people. He just views the world too differently from everyone else. But everyone extends him patience. Gives back the love he constantly exudes. But boy, does Gohan’s patience wear thin sometimes.
“Dad, things aren’t that simple for a lot of people, me included. We’ve been over this.” The skin on his knuckles is starting to sting. He might draw blood soon. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I don’t… I don’t really hate you. But you messed up. A lot. And I know you never intended to, but you.” Exhale. “You hurt me a lot, dad. Even when you didn’t mean to. And it… It still hurts. I can’t get over shit like you can.”
“Then explain it to me,” Goku pleads. “Please.” What the hell is he thinking right now? Why is he asking this so suddenly? Gohan feels pressure building in his chest. Head buzzing. Coward, coward, coward.
“No,” he says sharply, sharper than he wanted to. He stands up, the chair scraping out across the floor. “I can’t have this conversation right now, dad. I… I’m gonna go home.” Coward. “Thank you for dinner. It was nice.” Coward! Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “I’ll see you next week. Tell mom I said hi.”
“Gohan–”
But he’s gone. The door closes behind him and Goku hears the car start. It pulls out, it drives away toward the city. The house is quiet. The second hand on the clock ticks. 8:18.
…
Something’s bubbling inside him, something he knows well, something he hates. If he puts the lid on the pressure will build, if he doesn’t it’ll boil over. He slams the lid down. Imagines he’s stifling it, like he’s putting his hands around its neck until the body stops moving. He knows that’s not the case. He pretends anyway. The memories are coating the inside of his mouth like blood.
Halfway down the mountain road he pulls the car over and steps out. His hands are shaking and tingly and he knows he needs to go before he accidentally breaks something. He takes off, gently as possible, and starts flying deeper into the mountain range, away from the city, but definitely not back towards Mount Paozu. He prays to god his dad won’t do that stupid thing where he follows people around until he gets an answer. He keeps going for a while, until he reaches an area far from any towns, someplace things should be fine. Deep breaths. He lowers to the ground softly. It booms and cracks before his feet even touch the dirt. I didn’t want that to happen. He bites the inside of his cheek. Don’t cry. Coward.
No matter how many times he breathes and counts to himself (inhale, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, exhale, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8) his ki continues to flare around him like fire, too big, too much for his body. In, out. It’s like he’s stoking the fire. The more he breathes, the more he tries to calm down, the bigger it gets. It’s burning him from the inside out. What the hell is he supposed to do with all this rage? All this hurt?
Gohan does his best not to think about his childhood. He especially tries not to think about Cell. He keeps those memories tucked away in a far corner of his mind. Wounds that never fully healed. Gohan doesn’t hate his dad, but when he remembers that day, he swears for a moment that he does.